


Dirty Games of Thrones

by SluttyHaruka



Series: Like a Princess [9]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Creampie, F/M, Facials, Gang Rape, Maledom, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Paizuri, Prostitution, Undressing, pissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-31 13:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6472558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SluttyHaruka/pseuds/SluttyHaruka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of relatively short works fixated on the characters of the series, some of which are relatively pleasant, some of which are remarkably unpleasant. The narrative of the source material is known for being quite raw to its characters, so expect similarly callous treatment (most of the time).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mother of Nothing

“Khaleesi!” Missandei cried out, arm reaching for her fair skinned Queen as she herself was stripped of her garments by the mob. 

They held daggers to her cheek, throat and breast and, as a blade pierced her flesh, several blistered, unwashed cocks flopped out of trousers before her. Hairy testicles patted her heavily as they slapped and rubbed those very pricks on her, wiping their crusted smegma off on her form, leaving trails of seminal crumbs along her chest and thighs. She struggled, but they pushed their weapons harder against her, just an ounce of pressure away from sheathing inside her. The threat frightened her, but the sight of numerous Sons of the Harpy masks looming over her, daggers and dicks in hand, rendered heading the silent threat impossible.

She looked to her Queen once again for rescue, help, guidance, _input_ , but the Targaryen was faced away from her, on her knees with a particularly long cock invading her throat. She retched, strands and globs of saliva expelled from her mouth around the wide, intrusive meat hammering her face. Her eyes jerked back in her head as her body violently shook, a tattered strap of her dress hanging down her arm. Her right breast was partially bared for the victorious revolters, drawing jeers from them while they continued to manhandle her.

One hunched behind her, seizing the sizable tit and digging his fingers into it, clawing into it as he held his knife to her neck. Even with the prick thrusting in her, she pulled away from the edge, barely managing a glance toward him as she did. He spat in her face and ordered the man fucking her face to finish or move aside, turning his blade on him. The man complied with a curse, receiving a glare in return. Shifting his attention back to the Whore _Dragon Mother_ , he spat in her eyes as she sputtered, gasping for breath. He sliced at her skin, snapping the other strap and letting the garment fall around her waist.

Upon the direction of this slaver, a big Harpy walked up to her, pulled her to her feet by her hair and swiped at her dress. The fabric tore in half, leaving the dazed Queen standing there shakily with nothing to cover her. They roared with laughter at her beautifully trimmed bush, her tear drop shaped breasts. A swarm of hands grabbed at her, scratched her, drew blood, groped her, pinched her until the pressure on her nerves made her cry out. 

“Release me at once.” Her voice was hoarse. “I may spare you from the death you richly deserve.”

The noises in the throne room quieted to a whisper when the bossy Harpy struck, a hard, backhanded blow leaving a large mark across her face. He signaled to two men at the entrance to the chamber, calling her a powerless cunt as he did so. Several once-former slaves entered, carrying the heads of her dragons, a drizzling of blood on the tiles of the floor clearly audible to all in the room. Daenerys’ subjects looked to her, watching the change in her facial expression in abject horror. Missandei, light-headed as she was, saw the exact moment her Queen’s hope died.

Shoulders slumped, Dany fell to her knees, her stare distant, grief stricken. The Harpy closest to her, turned her to face him and pulled her jaw open, releasing a stream of urine into her mouth. Some sprayed down her body, between the peaks of her breasts and into that carefully maintained pubis. She barely recoiled, quietly taking his piss into her mouth without swallowing. He let out a contented sigh as he finished relieving himself by finishing on her brow. He began stroking the moment his yellow fluid ceased trickling on her torso, working his length for his creamy gift for the defeated _Mother of Dragons_.

He cursed her name and her family line as rivulets of his seed landed upon her scalp. The fury with which he squeezed himself intensified the further into his orgasm he proceeded. He bucked his hips so hard he knocked her head back, the woman allowing herself to fall to the floor, splattered with more of his load as he hunched over her.

“You are Mother of Nothing now, cunt,” he said.

The leader smirked, stowing his knife away and removing his mask. “Kill the others after you have your fill of them. We _may_ keep her alive after we finish here.”

Horrid shrieks echoed off the chambers walls as the women were subjected to the fate chosen for them, taken by numerous men at the same time. Pleas to the _Khaleesi_ diminished in number as they saw that she refused to move, allowing two or more Harpies to wedge their cocks into her body at once, pounding her husk into oblivion. She had, to their gleeful surprise, become an easier target in defeat than she even had been prior and, as the noises filling the chamber were reduced to the few men pumping inside her spread sex, wearing it out so the next taker could comment on how loose of a whore she was, she remained in shock over her failure to have ever reached Westeros, let alone liberate it.


	2. Cosying up to Pyceel

Ros grunted, her ability to suppress her disgust faltering. Granted, she wasn't one to loathe their lot in life; actually, in recent months she had experienced some undeniable upward social mobility, landing her under the wing of one of the truly powerful players at King’s Landing. Sure, she was still a whore and performed the services of the profession, but a whore at the Red Keep with the potential to cultivate her own influence over the labyrinthine political maneuvers that characterized the heart of Westeros.

All she had to do was fuck crusty old men who wielded most of the power in those plays, cosying up to them while they loosened their lips and offered their ears. So, business as usual. It didn't take long for her to recognize that King’s Landing was simply a bigger version of the brothel back home, the corruption and greed merely highlighted and amplified. Everyone knew everyone else was out for number one, generally at the expense of all others, so there naturally was a degree of transparency. And, oh, did these lords and ladies love to talk, _even_ when they suspected someone may be listening.

Had she been any less keen, she would have disregarded the Grand Maester’s babble as the rantings of a mad, old man - particularly his insistent praise of the new King Baratheon. But, though he tended to trail off and become sidetracked in his one-sided conversations, she had been able to discern that there was something he was holding to his chest, something vital. Her compounding frustration stemmed from her inability to coax his secrets out of him, and not for lack of trying.

Her best skill was her ability to milk a cock, and it was one that she was, _understandably_ , quite practiced in. Her body was a proficient tool, her tool, which she used to bring men great pleasure. And, judging by the frequency of the repeat business he brought her, Maester Pycell certainly found satisfaction in her grasp. The aged man wheezed and panted, brow drenched in his sweat, as she worked his eel, quite often wringing his seed out onto her perfumed bush.

Today, though, he requested something out of the ordinary, which suited her handsomely… at first. Her cunt got a rigorous workout each and everyday, so much so that she always felt a bit raw, as much as she was always up to the challenge to safeguard her employment. And it was no secret that her mother had endowed her with a comely bosom. Even when she wasn't clad in a dress with a conveniently low neckline, her figure did all the advertising she needed for steady business. Putting her tits to work in substitution for her smarting sex when she could afford to was just a financially sound decision. However, there was a critical lesson that she, apparently, was obliged to relearn time and again. 

The smell of a man was much more pronounced when his cock was enveloped in her breasts, his fluids leaking onto on her pale slopes and trickling down into her cleavage. Unmitigated by her saliva, she could do nothing to avoid the putrid smegma of her johns wafting up to her nostrils. She understood why they didn't wash their groins. If one had some dirty, filthy, stupid whore that could lick their member down, why bother?

Only, Maester Pycell easily had the most rancid smelling cock out of all her johns and actively insisted that she not use her mouth when wrapping her tits around him. As careful as he was to appear senile, unthreatening, sometimes he allowed the illusion to break so that he could watch her struggle not to squirm under his gaze. His horrid eel pulsated, oozing ever more of his precum onto her chest, milked slowly by his attentive mark. She bit on the inside of her cheek to keep herself smiling, to keep staring into his eyes with randy anticipation.

Her soiled globes jiggled with each bounce on his lap, squeezed together by her crossed arms. His gnarled fingers remained off her as she worked him, clutching at his heart as if he were feeble. His rambling had devolved into pained utterances, sickly moans succeeding his attempts to buck his hips. Having him in such a wanton state would make it far easier for her to pry him for information, but the sensations assaulting her brain were incomparably egregious. His odious fumes were making her dizzy, making her head start to tilt backwards, and the trickling of his fluid down her bosom was reaching her forearms, tickling her tiny hairs as much as her agitated nerves.

Resolute, she stroked him vigorously with her tits, leaning forward to lick at his chest. He groaned, falling back onto bed, humping upwards as she slid downwards. His thrust was shockingly strong, even after all their previous couplings, but it didn't last long. Soon the cork popped off entirely, his furry balls tightening in her fleshy grasp, and she felt a hot spray of his semen strike her chin. Continuing to wank him, his subsequent squirts landed upon her bust, glazing it in his aged load.

His wheezing deepened in pitch as he ejaculated onto Ros until it stopped entirely. It took a moment for her to notice, but when she did, she stopped moving. Her brow furrowed and her eyes went wide, her heart skipping a beat. Just as her brain formed the thought, though, his mouth gaped in a particularly loud snore. Of course he had fallen asleep. And, of course, she left with her payment in gold and bust stinking of old man jizz despite a thorough washing, nothing new having been learned.


	3. The Lady vs. The Hound

Crimson droplets slid down the bridge of her nose, falling to the ashen earth below her. They flowed from the fresh gash below her eye, rivulets creeping down her gloved fingers as she clutched at her cheek. She couldn't stem the bleeding or assess the severity of the wound, her head tilting to and fro from being dazed. The strike had flipped her, causing her to land on her stomach, face smacking against the rocky ground. Everything hurt, making it difficult to focus on any one injury. 

She attempted to lift herself up, but her limbs were struggling to support her weight. She groaned, feeling the ache in her jaw intensify. Instead of standing, she tried to pull her body across the gravel. There was a sudden sharp pain in her crotch as his boot punted her. She coughed up more blood, her air supply venting and leaving her gasping. Her form shook, armor rattling from her movement and crunching against the gravel as she received another kick. A whimper was all she could manage between bouts of breathlessness.

Above her, the Hound growled. “It seems that you have lost your edge,” he said, picking her up by the scruff of her neck. “Maybe you should have known better than to pick a fight you weren't prepared for, bitch. You did manage to bite my ear off, though.” She felt his sneer as their cheeks touched, her hot fluid forming a sticky layer between them. “That will smart for a while. I am sure this cut will, too.”

“Let me go,” she croaked, wincing as his blade touched her skin. “Arya doesn't belong with you. She needs to be with her family.”

He laughed. “They all die before she has a chance to reach them. She is better off remaining on her own.”

She grit her teeth, straining her jaw. “That is not for _you_ to decide.” She smashed her elbow into his side, provoking a grunt.

“I have had enough of your attitude, cunt. Seems like you need someone to shut you up.”

His gauntlet reached down and tore at the battered cloth encasing her groin. Her eyes went wide as her aching sex was exposed to the cold air and writhed violently in his grasp, causing them both to fall backwards. They landed hard, her coughing up more blood and him heaving from her surprisingly substantial weight. She attempted to take advantage of his shock to break free, to no avail. Keeping his blade to her throat, he fished his cock out of his own garments and pressed it to her soft entrance.

She screeched, twisting her hips in desperation. Biting her neck, he looped his arms around her legs and hoisted them up toward her face, interlacing his fingers behind her head. Her blonde hair was sweaty and greasy, slippery due to her erratic movement, but he held her fast, her orifices spread for his spear. As he became engorged, the sheer size and width of it made her quiver, crying for help that would not come. In a quick motion, he reached back down to guide his tip to her opening. She screamed and fought harder to break free, armor scraping against armor.

“Okay, then how about this one?” He aimed between her buttocks at her pucker. She nearly cracked her skull on his head in a wild flail. He laughed. “This one, it is.”

Her eyes bulged as he pushed in, a searing pain splitting apart her anus. His bulbous glans just kept ripping her further and further open; for an infinite second, she thought he was going tear her in half. Her body refused to relax, her ring remaining clenched down on him. Her agony was punctuated by a contented sigh from him as his crown embedded itself in her fully and his shaft thrust up with remarkably less resistance, hairy balls launching forward and popping her in her vulva. 

She barely winced, her horrified struggle to free herself losing steam. They could both smell her fear and the ripe, unwashed odor of her ass, the pitch soundtrack her cries provided unnecessary and grating.

“Shut up, do shut the fuck up.” His upward thrusts plowed further into her, distending her spasming rectum and continuing the assault on her sex as his fingers interlaced behind her head again. “Rub yer cunt or I will give you something to really scream about, maid.”

He bit her again, providing extra incentive. She wormed one of her heavy arms around her restrained leg and gingerly touched herself, her vocalizations still loud to express her suffering. She felt as if her sphincter were being constantly stabbed. Before long, the coppery scent of blood joined the putrid smog about them as it trickled from her abused opening. Lightly manipulating herself and feeling the insertion become lubricated by her injury, her agony waned slightly. Exploring further, spreading her labia and teasing her insides, her screams softened into sobs and pleas for mercy. 

“Don’t worry, virgin. I will fuck every ounce of dignity out of you.” He breathed in her ear, hastening his thrusts. “We will make you a proper whore.”

She groaned, fresh tears flowing from her eyes and down the dried tracks along her cheeks. She continued rubbing her sex, though, finding that it did provide some relief, pleasure that grew as she found spots that made her shiver. She could feel… a wetness that become pronounced while he really hammered her bottom. It itched her insides and began dulling the stabbing pain to a burning sensation. Even as he bottomed out in her, prodding her organs and causing a recurring protrusion in her abdomen, she found that the resulting shortness of breath did not cause her more significant discomfort, physically, at least.

As he neared his completion, she found that she could actually think clearly again and begin considering methods of escape. She felt compelled to act in her own defense, however traumatizing this violation of her body was. She needed to get away. She could sort out her horror later. She just needed to break free. She just needed to try.

Brienne groaned as his prick swelled, washing her bloody bowels in his cum. He filled her up quite quickly, biting her yet again as he groaned himself, releasing so deep inside her. Her walls constricted around him, milking it out, _milking it all out_. She kept thinking about escape, but her gloved hand kept probing her cunt. Her body seized around his, round butt cheeks shuddering against his lap as his ejaculate dripped down his shaft, pooling on his crotch and gluing them together. She had to get away, but her fingers kept exploring her sex and her groan slowly transformed into a mewl. She continued to ride her own orgasm, riding him.

He cocked an eyebrow, letting her finish working him. As she began to settle down, he released his hold on her and cupped her rear.

“Hmm, that was easier than I thought it’d be.” Flipping her onto her stomach, he straddled her thighs and slapped her her gaping rear with his still erect cock, wiggling it against her openings. Though it was muffled by dirt, her moan was much louder and her hand remained between her legs. “Been awhile since I could have this kind of fun.”


End file.
